Hello and welcome to Align Your Mind. My name is Chelsea Tanner. I’m a flutist and a mindset coach for musicians.

Today’s episode might be a little shorter—I didn’t outline it, but I had a thought about process that I wanted to share. I came across something on Instagram that said, “But does the process know we’re trusting it?” And it really got me thinking.

What does it actually mean to trust the process?

Here’s where I landed: Trusting the process doesn’t mean you’re entitled to a specific result. It means you’re committed to the journey and whatever comes from it. You’re on the ride, not just aiming for the destination.

Maybe your process involves returning to your instrument every day, staying curious, or continually showing up for your students. Whatever it is, trusting the process doesn’t mean it has to look a certain way or that you’ll get the result you want at the end.

The alternative to trusting is doubting—and when you doubt the process, you don’t go all in. You hedge. You hold back. And then you don’t get what you want. So you have to trust the process without knowing for sure that it’s going to work. That’s the uncomfortable part. But the process isn’t really the point. Building trust is the point.

I’ve had clients and students who become obsessed with finding the “perfect” process—best practice methods, prep strategies, the right online course, etc. I’ve done it too. I’ve bought the workbooks, the courses, the templates. And some of those have absolutely helped me—but only when I made them part of my own process. Not when I tried to force someone else’s system onto myself.

Other people’s methods can be helpful, but they’re ingredients, not a full recipe. And if you’re only ever trying to follow someone else’s way, you stop trusting yourself. That’s what we do with teachers a lot—we think their way will be the way. But their process might only work 70% for you. The rest depends on your own unique brain, your body, your experience.

I think about this all the time with flute. Every flute is the same size, but the people playing them are not. Our lips, our hands, our bodies—none of it is the same. So how could one approach work for everyone? It can’t. Which is why I love pulling ideas from body mapping, posture studies, and so many other resources—and then synthesizing what actually works for me.

You’re not here to be a carbon copy. You’re here to develop your own approach. That’s what artistry is. But we live in a culture obsessed with perfection and efficiency. So instead of curiosity, we spiral into, “Did I waste time? Should I have done something else? Did I use the right method?”

And the truth is—no one else has your answer. Only you do. That can feel frustrating, especially when you're a student. But it’s also powerful. You get to decide how to learn, what to keep, what to let go of. I’ve sat in masterclasses and taken notes—not on what to do, but on what not to do. You can learn from everything if you stay curious.

The danger is when we try to outsource our self-trust. When we think someone else’s approval or system will give us confidence. But someone else thinking you can do something isn’t confidence—it’s their belief, not yours.

That’s why this kind of self-trust isn’t easily packaged or sold. It doesn’t come with a workbook or a checklist. And yet, it’s foundational.

I’ve seen students overwhelmed by all the resources—carrying tons of music, unsure where to start, trying to improve everything at once. But trusting the process means letting the room stay messy sometimes. Imagine you’re renovating a room. Some days, it’ll look worse before it gets better. Maybe you discover mold. Maybe it’s chaotic. That doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. It means you’re doing the work.

And trust doesn’t always feel good. It can feel wildly uncomfortable. But it pays off—because you're practicing checking in with yourself.

One more piece I want to add here is about this idea of knowing. Lately, I’ve been tuning into a deeper intuitive sense. And whether you resonate with that or not, there’s a decision you can make: to know something will work.

That decision is just as available to you as the one that says, “This probably won’t work.” In fact, the thought “What if it doesn’t work?” is just “This won’t work” disguised as a question.

Knowing can be a choice. It’s uncomfortable—but it’s powerful.

If you have an audition in three days and you’re thinking, “I’m not ready,” then you probably won’t practice in a meaningful way. But if you say, “I’m going to nail it on the day,” you will show up with everything you’ve got. And even if it doesn’t go the way you want, the process of choosing belief is still worth it.

Deciding means cutting off other possibilities. It’s scary. But it’s necessary. And yeah, people might call it delusional—but so is the opposite. We predict failure all the time and call it realism. Why not predict success?

Trusting someone else’s process won’t get you where you want to go. Trusting your own process will.

During my master’s, I fully surrendered to my teacher’s process. I learned a ton—but I didn’t build any internal opinion about my own playing. When that teacher was no longer in the picture, I felt lost. I went to a summer festival and was deeply insecure, constantly seeking validation. Because I hadn’t practiced trusting myself—I had practiced obedience.

Eventually, I worked with a teacher who required me to form opinions, to figure things out for myself. That combination of guidance and autonomy was exactly what I needed.

So when I see people post in flute groups things like, “I just don’t think I can play any faster—I’ve hit a wall,” I see that as a belief. A choice. You can just as easily say, “I will get faster. I don’t know how long it will take, but I will.”

That’s what knowing looks like. It’s not about a timeline. It’s about choosing to keep going. And when things get hard, that’s when you double down—not give up.

So yes, it might seem “delusional” to believe in yourself when there's no evidence. But believing you’re not good enough is equally delusional—it’s just more socially acceptable. That’s the only difference.

The reason not everyone becomes extraordinary? I think a big part of it is this: not everyone chooses what to believe. You can. You can decide. You can leave the room messy. You can trust your process—not because it’s perfect, but because it’s yours.

And remember: you can’t do the process “right” enough to suddenly trust yourself.

Well, that feels like a good place to stop. If this episode resonated with you, I’d love it if you’d share it with a friend, or post about it on social media. I’m not great at promoting this podcast, but for those of you who listen—I’m so grateful. I see the downloads and I’m so honored you let me spend time in your ears every week. Thank you so much.

Have a beautiful week. I’ll see you next time.